


Nourish

by Decepticonsensual



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 09:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: What we nourish is what we become.It's hard for Ambulon to find a place amid his new crew when he can't seem to shake the stigma of his past.  And First Aid isn't helping.





	Nourish

**Author's Note:**

> A gift fic for TFN2019.
> 
> (Warnings for illness and hospital setting.)

“Where’s the patient?” Ambulon demanded. He’d been pulled out of recharge and scrubbed up hurriedly, disinfectant still damp and stinging the joints of his hands.

First Aid glanced up from one of the lab microscopes. He looked drawn, the delicate metal around his optics creased. “Through there. I’m sorry to wake you, but I thought your particular expertise –”

“It’s fine.” Ambulon strode towards the isolation pod First Aid had indicated at the end of the medbay.

“Wait!” First Aid called. “I need to –”

Ambulon had already keyed in the door code, however, and the pod hissed open. The interior was cool and dim. Ambulon could make out a large mech – perhaps a tankformer – curled in on himself, perched at the edge of the berth. The mech was whimpering faintly. His once-vivid blue plating had dramatically faded, and, in patches, was turning a necrotic grey.

Ambulon hissed in a sympathetic ventilation, which made the patient look up. At once, the mech’s face contorted. “ _ You  _ fraggers did this to me!” he snarled, surging to his feet and pointing a shaking hand at Ambulon. Ambulon felt himself frozen in place as the patient lurched menacingly towards him. “Your kind! You’re all –”

A hand on Ambulon’s collar fairing yanked him backwards. Ambulon stumbled; First Aid switched his grip to Ambulon’s waist, steadying him, while slamming the pod door shut with  the other hand. “Sorry about that,” First Aid murmured. “I did try and warn you.”

Ambulon forced himself to cycle air and tried to calm the whirr of his spark. A cold rush of rage had followed his initial shock, but it wasn’t right to pin it on First Aid, or on the patient, who needed him. “You did,” he owned, his mouth dry. 

His fingers itched to pick at his paint. He stilled them.

“He was a captive of the Decepticons for around a year,” Aid whispered as he drew Ambulon away from the pod door. “You remember that prisoner exchange we were asked to help with last week? One of theirs for one of ours? Well, he was the one of ours we got back.”

Ambulon nodded. He hadn’t seen any of the process firsthand: Ratchet had cautioned him to keep his head down, in case the Decepticon prisoner or their negotiating counterparts recognised him. Ambulon hadn’t really seen what more harm it could do for his old faction to find out he was on the  _ Lost Light,  _ given that one of the Decepticons’ most infamous traitors, Deadlock ( _ Drift, it was Drift now _ ), was happy to practically broadcast his presence, and if either of them were going to draw unwanted attention, it would definitely be Dea – Drift. But he hadn’t been keen on encountering old “friends”, either, so he’d done as he was told.

“He started exhibiting symptoms around twelve hours after his return,” First Aid continued. “Cramped lines, severe pain in his fuel tanks, and now the paint peeling. I thought putting him in isolation was the safest thing. And now I have to ask you...” Aid squared up to Ambulon, staring hard into his optics. “Is this going to spread?”

“Is it going to – mother of  _ frag. _ ” Ambulon pressed a hand to his forehead. “You think he was infected deliberately, don’t you? You think this is some kind of – of Decepticon plague!”

“Don’t take that tone with me! It’s not like we don’t both have  _ very  _ recent experience of Decepticon plagues, spread by bots seeking sanctuary!”

“That plague you’re talking about was the brainchild of our very  _ Autobot  _ ex-boss, in case you’ve forgotten.” Ambulon was shaking. “But no. You don’t think of it like that. It’s a  _ Decepticon  _ disease to you, and you drag me out of recharge to interrogate me about the big, bad Decepticons and their sneaky bioweapons. ‘Particular expertise’ my aft. You needed a ’Con.”

“What if I did? Medical knowledge is medical knowledge, _Doctor. _We can’t afford to get all delicate about how we know something useful. Maybe I was wrong, but I had a solid theory, and if your past could help you confirm or disprove it, _our patient _needed that!”

“And did you happen to share your theory with  _ our patient _ ? Because if he were feeling much stronger, he might have taken my head off!”

First Aid drew back a bit at that, visor widening as he met Ambulon’s furious optics. After a long moment, Aid lowered his gaze. “You’re right,” he said. “I did ask him if he could remember the Decepticons injecting him with anything, or tampering with his food, and he must have put it together. I should have been better about making sure you didn’t end up in the same room with him.” He sighed. “And yeah, I get it – you don’t want to be treated like an ex-’Con first and a doctor second. I’m sorry, Ambulon. If it helps, I really did need you.  _ You- _ you, not just your memories. All I could think about was some engineered plague tearing through the  _ Lost Light  _ the way Red Rust tore through Delphi.”

All the anger went out of Ambulon in a rush, like an icy wave receding. He shuttered his optics for a second. “Of course. I’m sorry, too.” When he opened his optics again, he met Aid’s look with a wry smile. “And I hate to say it, but – you were  right. It’s because I was a Decepticon that I do know what this is. Let me guess: the first thing Rodimus did when our rescued Autobot came onboard was give him a hearty welcome-home meal, right?”

“Yes...” Aid’s voice was wary. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“It’s a nutrient problem.” Ambulon went to one of the lab screens and started pulling up formulae for different varieties of energon. “Past three million years or so, the Decepticons have been adding a filler to their standard rations to stretch them further. Autobots don’t use the filler, so their – our – energon is a little richer. Both sides have adapted to their own rations; even switching from one to the other is usually fine. Autobots on Decepticon fuel just feel a little hungrier. Decepticons switching to Autobot fuel might have a range of mild symptoms, from nothing at all to slight headaches or… well, aggravation of any conditions affecting the paintjob.” He glanced ruefully at his own. “But if you start out on one form of fuel, then get used to the other, and then switch  _ back –  _ that’s where the real problems start. Nanites in paint start dying off, the fuel system seizes up. Everything our friend is experiencing, in fact.”

“So it was an accident,” Aid said, half to himself. “The Decepticons were just trying to keep him alive.”

“Exactly. Luckily, the treatment is simple. We just need to synthesise the filler and add it to his rations, so we can wean him off it gradually.”

“That’s one hell of a relief. Hey.” First Aid stuck out his hand. “Thanks.”

Ambulon shook it, a bit awkwardly, and left to get back to his interrupted recharge.

***

The next morning, Ambulon was arriving for his shift when he heard voices from behind the curtain surrounding one of the medical berths.

“– moving you out here,” First Aid was saying. “You should be feeling better in a couple of days.”

“And you’re  _ sure  _ it’s not some ’Con plot to kill me?”

“Absolutely. Just a little cultural difference, is all.”

“Well.” The voice of the patient from the night before was unmistakable, and sounded far from satisfied. “Just – keep that filthy ’Con who’s dressed up like a medic away from me, okay?”

Aid’s voice hardened. “If you don’t want him treating you, I’ll respect that, but let’s get something straight, shall we? That  _ Autobot doctor  _ is the reason you’re recovering. If it hadn’t been for him, you’d still be in unbelievable pain while I drove myself crazy trying to work out your symptoms. You should be thanking him.”

Ambulon ducked his head, grinning, and took a little more time than usual to lay out his medical instruments with pride, ready for a day’s work.


End file.
